Convergence
by Lady Nightspike
Summary: Edited after a long, long hiatus, and with an entirely new chapter! Please R&R!
1. Stars Aligning

**Convergence**

**ETA: I've revamped slightly (mostly format, not content). I know it's been forever, but this story still gets hits and...well...I have Ch 4 on my computer so I decided to revise it. Some things aren't stylistically up to standard (it's been five years) but not off enough to warrant a full revision.**

This is my first try at an AC fic, so please be nice! I tried to make it romantic without focusing too heavily on war/betrayal/politics, but since this is an AC fic, expect those in later chapters. Also,I'm going to try to focus on knowledge, especially after the war ends. But there's lots of time before then, so smile! And, this may or may not keep to some sort of canon- I'm thinking it's going to veer off in its own direction.

Writing style: hopefully not too fast/confusing, but I plan on skipping some intervals of time. Pretty much normal style for me- but 'normal for me' is sometimes more thought-filled than action-filled, so please be patient. Also hopefully not too unwieldy to undermine the story. Enjoy!

* * *

_Chapter One- Stars Aligning_

One last sad celebration on Earth. He had met her then, Deirdre Skye, the youngest scientist of them all. Zakharov hated parties, always had, and strongly disapproved of having one now, though he supposed it would be a good way to meet the people he would be forced to work with when they…left. At least, when they had eaten their sparse meal and the time for socializing had come, he could retreat into the shadows.

He acquisitioned a bottle of vodka from the table--self-awarded for coming and putting up with Chaplain Miriam Goodwinson's speculations the entire meal about why God wasn't punishing them. If Zakharov had ever been religious, he had slowly replaced religion with philosophy; he was hardly an atheist, but neither did he trust Miriam's hungry God. There was a sitting room off of the main hall, into which he gratefully went to try to forget what she had said.

But as he sank down into a welcoming leather chair, he heard voices--one male, one female. In disapproval he strained to hear--he hardly wanted to give up his sitting space, but neither did he want to become a unwitting voyeur.

"Let us match shots, my dear," said a voice that was trying to be gallant and courteous and failed. Zakharov snickered. He recognized the Economic Adviser Morgan, a sometime friend. Obviously this woman was someone that Morgan found…stimulating, or else wanted to humiliate in public.

"Alright," responded an unfamiliar female voice, a little unsure.

He heard a drink being poured, and some laughter from further away. He sighed and poured himself his own. He would stay for now, refusing to be rooted from his antisocial perch unless absolutely necessary.

"Now, my dear, you must not be intimidated by some of the minds here. They may consider you, I warn you…a little young. You are not even thirty, yes?"

"I'm twenty-five," said she. Now this was getting ridiculous. Morgan, Zakharov knew, though of an indeterminate age, was older than he!

"They will try to play on your own inexperience and call you naïve, foolish, _girlish, _who knows. But I'm sure that in time you will learn…here, let's have another one…that you can play on their outdated ways as well. Cheers."

They drank again, and again. After four shots Zakharov was pretty sure that Morgan, though he sounded perfectly reasonable, was after something or other; there was a lilt in his tone when he told her what the others _might _think that implied that he himself _did _think such things. He decided it would be best for him to intercede. He had figured out who Morgan's companion was: the Unity's soon-to-be ecologist, something of a child prodigy. It had been a shock when she had been put in charge, but the Captain believed in her intelligence and capability. Unfortunately, establishing her authority was going to be her most difficult task: Zakharov had heard she was beautiful and young; although any scientist would bow to her abilities objectively, envy and spite had followed her. But even though they had not met, he hardly wished her the ill that Morgan was trying to bestow.

So he was about to step out from behind the curtains and steer one of them away from the other when Morgan said, "Well, I shouldn't monopolize your attention, Deirdre. Lots of people seem to want to entertain the pretty scientist. Those seem to be in short supply."

Zakharov almost wanted to call Morgan on what he had just said about scientists in general and Deirdre in particular, but he would settle for asking him later, he had decided, when Deirdre Skye stumbled through the curtains and into his private little corner.

"Oh," she said, her blue eyes round. "You're…you're…him."

"And who is he?" Zakharov teased a little. He _had _seen this woman at the banquet table, about five seats down and opposite him, and wondered at her beauty. But he had thought she was some bureaucrat's daughter, or a minor aide.

Her job would be challenging; the planet they were going to, now that Earth was dying, would be full of strange environments. On the Unity she was in charge of keeping the few native plants they would bring with them alive until it was time to plant them in the new atmosphere. This was extremely important, for who knew what plants they would be able to eat when they arrived?

But she was a self-confessed twenty-five, and she was vibrant, beautiful, and not at all proven. And here she was, slightly drunk--or more than that--thanks to Morgan, and putting together a response to his teasing.

"The Chief Research Scientist. I asked if I could meet you, and Captain Garland just laughed and asked why I wanted to. And then he said that if I was here tonight and I found the most shadowy, isolated place in the hall, I could talk to you all I wanted."

Zakharov laughed. John really knew him too well. "Well, you have your wish. So what would you like to talk about?"

"Well, there are lots of things, but I think…" she blinked in confusion. Looking down at her hands. "I'm sorry, I'm a bit..."

"They can wait," he said in a much graver tone, reflecting on the length of the journey and all the fun times they'd be having in the new world.

"Okay! Waiting is good!" said she, once again cheered. "But you don't think I'm too young, do you?"

It wasn't meant to be sexual at all, especially with him having overheard her conversation with Morgan, but she tripped approaching him and fell into his lap. She shifted to look at him, saying, "Sorry," in a soft, almost-sober tone of voice.

"We'll talk later," he said, his senses on fire. "And no, I don't think you're too young for anything to stop you from doing what you desire."

She blinked those large blue eyes at him again--and promptly fell asleep. Zakharov set her down gently, on the chair beside his, and poured himself some more vodka, if only to calm himself down. "Lusting after the ecologist isn't going to help me on this journey," he reflected as he contemplated the long road ahead of them.

But before he left the room he let his eyes study her delicate form. He resolved to stay away from Deirdre Skye as long as possible, if only to keep his sanity intact.

* * *

But other forces were converging around them. Chaplain Miriam, needing a place away from others for awhile, was drawn to a small certain room. Pausing to discern whether there were people inside, she heard Zakharov say, "So what would you like to _talk _about?"

Ugh, Zakharov. Some inept social planner had sat them together at dinner, and it hadn't been pleasant for either of them. He was an atheist at heart, she knew, and would only interfere with her beliefs and the morale of the crew. But she wondered what he was really saying, underneath the guarded tone, and so she stayed.

She was shocked to hear an answering female voice, too low for her to catch all the words, "There are…things…" and even more shocked to hear him respond, "They can wait," with animal lust in his voice. It was a disgusting conversation, one that she was glad to hear- and yet wished she hadn't.

For with the next question, about age, she recognized that female voice. It was Deirdre Skye, the young ecologist. Miriam had solved the mystery of how such a young girl had obtained a position of authority on the Unity; it must have been Zakharov's favoritism! But to think they would be so bold as to carry on here, in public…

"We'll talk later," said Zakharov with disgusting promises in his voice. Miriam fled lest she begin hearing even more improper things- which, no doubt, were occurring in that curtained room.

But the sheer indecency offended her so deeply that she resolved to inhibit Zakharov as best she could, and perhaps draw Deirdre away from his evil clutches before it was too late. She was young, after all, and probably didn't realize what she was getting into. Perhaps she could still see the light of God?

* * *

Well, that's the end for now. Never fear, I do have more ideas...(although that could be a cause for fear, one never knows). Don't you like Miriam's reinterpretation of D/Z's conversation? What an impression she has of them.

Suggestions, flames, philosophical treatises, mathematical equations...whatever you want me to have, I'll take!


	2. One Moment in Paradise

**ETA: this chapter is much prettier now. And hopefully less...something or other! I haven't changed the plot structure, though.**

Timeline idea:

1. Most people are put to sleep or whatever you want to call it.

2. Leaders and important people make sure everything's all set for a long journey.

3. Leaders/vips are also cryo'd, and only a handful of people remain awake (in short cycles) to maintain the Unity.

4. After the long stasis, leaders/important people are awakened to prepare for the journey's end.

5. They begin to wake everyone.

6. The Unity implodes or whatever.

Chapter two takes place in 2; Ch three and four will be during 4 and 5/6 respectively. So this tells you two things a) the Unity implodes in Chapter 4 and b) Miriam is for some reason important.

J/k of course she's important...gotta have those...beliefs...

* * *

_Ch. 2: One Moment in Paradise_

Slammed doors were Deirdre's most vivid memory of the early days aboard the Unity. The main leaders were always huffing about like steam trains. Even Pravin Lal, the most diplomatic, seemed to give the doors slightly more force than needed.

As compensation, she closed them only gently.

John Garland was immensely proud of her work; she had lost nothing and in fact managed to grow more plants in space. He came there sometimes, to remind himself that there was life, and hope existed still. So excited that her plants could incite hope, Deirdre decided to try growing more. Weren't there some seeds in storage for things more frivolous than vegetables but still important? She thought there would be herbs.

So, hoping to find a bit of sage or lavender or even basil--something that flowered prettily and tasted and smelled wonderful- Deidre ventured into the dark bowels of the ship. And in that shadowy place, she nearly stumbled over Prokhor Zakharov staring moodily into a cup of water.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" she said, then realized who it was. "Hi." Truth be told, she was embarrassed about their initial meeting. She had woken up, remembering the warm feeling of his arms, and nearly died of shame. That night had made her wary of Morgan and of alcohol; she had never drank to any extent before, and she had resolved not to do so again, no matter what anyone said was customary in polite society. The unfortunate consequence of that was a sense of awkwardness which had caused her to avoid him since then. So the promised conversations on the Unity had never come to fruition. _He _didn't seem to mind or to share the sentiment, but they had both been busy.

"Hello," he said, barely looking at her, in a tone of voice that clearly implied he would rather be alone.

"Do you happen to know where the seeds are down here?" she asked, not wanting to confront him about his moodiness--she barely knew him.

"Seeds?" Something in his demeanor changed. She wanted _seeds_; she hadn't sought him out. It was a change from the politically-minded conversations he'd fled from. "I'd forgotten that we had those down here. Let me see…"

And with some difficulty he found the small crate labeled 'green supplies' and freed it from the network of boxes. "What do you need?"

"Anything," she said earnestly. "I was hoping to cultivate something prettier than vegetables--not that vegetables aren't pretty in their own right, but I wanted to add a splash of color and scent. My work's going well, so I thought it wouldn't hurt to add a few more plants. It'll be easier than growing from scratch."

"That's excellent," he said. "May I see?"

"Of course," she said, thinking it might cheer him too.

She led him--still carrying the silly box--back up into the main part of the ship, where he ducked to keep from being accosted and hid himself with his package.

Deirdre chuckled. "It's a sad day when the chief research scientist has to assist a lowly ecologist."

"It's my pleasure," Zakharov said, considering what else he could be doing. His work had always drawn a certain amount of controversy, but aboard a ship which was divided sharply into factions and teeming with unsolicited opinions, this was especially irritating to him. Plus, he did feel bad about ignoring Deirdre--but she had seemed happy to do so, until now. It occurred to him that she might still be embarrassed about their first encounter.

And, despite the rumors that flew around her (totally unwarranted) Deirdre had managed to accomplish something onboard. Besides the kind smiles she had for everyone, she had done a lot of work investigating the possible biosystems of their new world. It was a wonder to him that anyone accomplished anything on this ship. He had never seen her lab, though...

"Alright, here it is," she said. "It's not much, but it's as much space as I'm going to get." She stepped aside to let him see.

His jaw dropped. Deirdre had transformed one of the cold, metallic rooms of the Unity into a slice of paradise. Plants grew in artificially lighted tiers; the larger ones flowered and even gave fruit. Every inch of space was used, and yet it didn't feel cramped; it felt unrestricted, like a lush jungle. The air smelled of delicious aromas; it was fresh, not canned.

"Not much?" he asked the cause of such beauty. "This is amazing! It's a miracle you made this grow in outer space!"

"I thought they might not, at first," she said. "Those were depressing days. But gradually it got better. I've adapted many of the plants to be tougher, and Captain Garland comes in here sometimes to rest." She smiled at the thought. "The poor man doesn't get much respite, so it's good that my plants please him. If I get enough plants, I'd like to try hybridization, but that won't be for awhile yet, so I thought in the meantime I'd grow some herbs."

"It's a thoughtful plan," he said. "May I help you?" And Deirdre studied him critically and thought that maybe working in her lab would do him some good, too. "Sure," she said, "we'll grow these herbs. Which ones do you prefer?"

"Well, you're the environmentalist," he said to her. "But if you're looking to grow herbs that are especially useful, chamomile, St. John's Wort, and mint are always useful for teas and medicines and such, and if they don't grow, we have plenty."

"That's a great idea!" She'd never considered that the doctors onboard might be grateful for a few medicinal herbs. "Let's get started."

They planted the herbs he had suggested, but when they were done they had one extra space. The rest of the seeds couldn't be used yet in case something happened to their plants, and so Zakharov let Deirdre have the honor of picking the last plant to be grown. She picked lavender, for its beauty more than its utility.

While they were planting the seeds, he noticed a small pot in one corner with what looked like a sapling. "What is this?" he said, gesturing towards it.

"Oh!" she replied. "It's a white pine. I tried to bring it as my luxury item until the captain laughed at me and told me it would count under my lab's supplies. I want to plant it when we arrive, as a reminder not to repeat the tragedy of Earth."

It was the first time he had heard her speak of Earth, and of the new planet, and of the horrors they had left behind. It touched him deeply that she had wanted to bring a luxury item that would, hopefully, be enjoyed by everyone.

And so that was the picture he formulated of her--as beautiful and appealing as lavender, but as strong and resilient as white pine: able, because of her strength, to bring beauty to others.

When he left her lab that day, he brought with him the serenity he had felt there.

He returned to the lab every day to check on their plants, and more often than not found her there, greeting him with a smile.

He longed to say something, anything at all to her, but still he stayed his hand. Every time he decided to act, he came up with a reason not to. There was no indication that she would feel the same way about him, and he knew he was a poor offering. She deserved someone younger--someone whose future was brighter, anyone but him for every reason. Finally he formulated the ultimate reason: improper timing.

A relationship couldn't start now, not when they both had so much else to think about. Especially not since so many eyes were on them, on this small ship...maybe later it would be the right time, when they could just be scientists again, and not politicians and caretakers and who knew what else. And Zakharov knew it was an excuse, but it was the right one. He wanted everything with Deidre to go right. Besides, he didn't even know what _she _felt.

Eventually they would all have to sleep away most of the journey to the new planet, Chiron, and then, he hoped, time would fly until the landing time came. And somewhere in the far-but-near future, he would be free to tell her just how much she meant to him.

* * *

Liked it? Hated it? Thought it would be better dipped in A1 sauce? Well, tell me! Also, if I canon'd wrong, you can either laugh behind my back or tell me...


	3. Emergence

**ETA (April 2010): I don't own. This chapter has been slightly revised, in terms of grammar and style. Please be patient! This story is old and definitely needs some plot sharpening, but it was either fix it or take it down.**

**

* * *

**

_Ch. 3: Emergence_

Deirdre awoke from cryostasis with a jolt. "Welcome back," said a kindly voice. Standing with the cryo technicians was none other than Captain Garland himself. "All the leaders are being roused to prepare the ship for the awakening of everyone. I've looked at your lab, and it still looks marvelous."

"Oh!" she said. "Why do I feel so strange?" It was difficult to stand, and the ship was tilting hazily--a flaw in her perception, no doubt.

"That's the usual," he assured her. "Here, why don't I help you to your quarters so you can rest."

It was all coming back to her now--after she had readied her lab, her helpers, people who worked underneath her, were woken in shifts by the cryostasis people in order to maintain it. She herself had been asleep for as long as it took to get very close to the planet.

As John assiduously helped her remember how to walk, she wondered who else was awake. Since she was the head ecologist, none of her friends would be--they all either worked under her or in minor positions for someone else. Once again she thanked her lucky stars for earning the post she had in such a short time; although people told her again and again that she had talent, she believed most of the impetus behind her getting the job was luck.

But she was too tired to get into the old patterns her thoughts usually took, and so she just blearily wished for her bed. "It's funny. I've been asleep for so long, and yet all I can think of right now is bed."

"Also normal," he said. "I think I slept for a week--which would have been quite the achievement if I hadn't slept for years before that!"

"That's right. We're all older now," she said, but of course there was no trace of it in him. He had always looked just the right age for a leader--old enough to hold the position, young enough to instill new life into it. She knew logically, somewhere in the recesses of her brain that she was currently too tired to access, that she looked no older than she had the day she had been frozen, how many years ago that had been notwithstanding.

"You, my dear, are always permitted to lie about your age," he teased, "though I suspect that you for one wish you were older, not younger."

"Yes," she said, reflecting on _that _bit of irony. "I suppose I'll reach a certain…critical age…and start lying about it the other way."

"I'm sure you'll never need to," he answered her. Taken aback by his compliment, she said nothing but smiled to show it was welcome.

"Can you manage from here?" he asked. They had reached their destination. She nodded her assent. "Will I see you in about a week or so?" he added.

"If it's been two, make sure I haven't died," she said tiredly, searching for a nightgown.

"Will do!" he replied. "Sleep well!" and he shut the door on his way out.

As she was drifting back to sleep, she heard voices in the hallway: "She's too young…" The accent was plainly Russian, and Deidre had a good idea to whom it belonged.

"That's ridiculous, Zakharov!" snapped John. "You know full well…"

His next words were unintelligible, but then he raised his voice again. "Deirdre is perfectly capable of making her own decisions. She's not a four-year old."

"But it seems like it, doesn't it…she might as well be. It'd be best for her if she didn't know."

Deidre was incensed. How dare he go about behind her back branding her inadequate? How _dare _he voice his objections to the captain, all the while pretending to be her friend? She stood again, fighting a rush of blood reminding her how tired she was, and made it to the door when she heard, "No one wants to know that the cranky old scientist has feelings for them."

Shocked, and halfway convinced she was hearing things, Deirdre tried to steady herself on the door--and ended up turning the handle. Since she was leaning on it pretty heavily, she fell out into the hallway, and basically onto the feet of the two men.

"Deirdre!" said John. "Are you alright?"

"Been better," she said. That was a bit of an understatement. Not only had she tipped them off to the fact that she had been listening, but she felt as though she was about to…

Both men weren't really surprised when she fainted. "Coming out of cryo is always hard," said John sympathetically. He stepped back, letting Zakharov do the honors.

But Zakharov was staring at her as if she came from another planet. "Did she overhear?"

"Do you hope so?" countered Garland.

"No!" That would give him a whole new set of problems that he hadn't the time to contemplate. He glanced again at the woman on the floor, which was a totally unhelpful thing to do, since he noticed her attire. "Oh," he said.

He could have sworn Garland was laughing at him, but whenever he looked at the captain, his face was expressionless. "We should probably get her back to bed," he said.

Uneasily he wondered whether she had heard their conversation. He was going to have to prepare if she had.

"You'll have plenty of time before she's ready to leave her room," said Garland. Zakharov swore the man could tell what he was thinking. "You should come by and visit when you've thought everything out. Just remember that human beings are capable of emotions as well as logic."

"How inconvenient," joked Zakharov. "Maybe I'll be back." Both of them knew he couldn't stay away, which was why he had known exactly when she would wake up and come by her room.

Five days later, outside the selfsame room, he couldn't help but feel that if he never saw her again, that would be okay. The last few days had been excruciating, as he had both tangled with his own contorted feelings and the possibilities of what she would say. He had tried to prepare himself for every eventuality, even the negative ones.

He raised his hand to knock, and heard a snatch of conversation. "Zakharov's evil…"

Sweet infinite damnation, was that _Miriam_? Was she spewing her invective into Deirdre's ear?

He heard a weaker voice saying, "He's not evil…please go away…"

Miriam's reply, "Zakharov stands for science without reason, for progress without heart. He cares not where or how he obtains knowledge; he is a machine, not a man, and he doesn't really love you. He's only using you because you are young, and pretty, and intelligent enough for a computer like him to tolerate."

That was enough. Zakharov stormed into the room, fairly screaming, "Why are you bothering her? She clearly doesn't want you here."

What he saw was a pathetic sight. Miriam, in her righteous sermonizing, had advanced threateningly on Deirdre, who was sitting at her desk in wide-eyed Shock. She looked tired, hardly fit to have company, and yet here Miriam was preaching to her! He grew even more incensed, tried to stop himself from grabbing the chaplain and throwing her out forcefully…

"She received me," Miriam said defiantly.

"Not for you to talk at her, I'm sure!" he countered, regaining his sense of _logic _and _rational behavior. _"Now, if you are interested in talking to her at some point, do so somewhere where it can't get out of hand. Otherwise, don't come near her again. Goodbye."

Miriam didn't move.

"GET OUT!" yelled Zakharov, holding the door open and shaking it.

Miriam fled. She hadn't known he would be so scary, or so possessive. But Deirdre would doubtless come to believe Zakharov, and become as lost and evil as he. So there was no use in trying to persuade the woman of anything.

As soon as she had left, Deirdre broke into sobs. Between Miriam's oh-so-righteous falsehoods and Zakharov's outright rage, she didn't know what to think. How could Miriam believe such lies? She wondered with dread if the woman had spread them around the Unity, because that would be damning. Between the shock of awakening from cryostasis and the shock of hearing Miriam's speech, Deidre had had enough. She just wanted to recover in peace. She had been feeling better--otherwise she wouldn't have admitted the woman in the first place--but apparently not well enough.

Zakharov looked distinctly uncomfortable, as if he sensed that his outburst had unsettled her as much as Miriam's outrage. "I'm so sorry," he said, not daring to touch her despite the uneasy feeling of his heart. "I don't know where she conjured up such venom, but Miriam has always been the 'upright' and 'noble' Voice in the Wilderness. No one with any sense will listen to her if she spreads her lies, except those who are equally as poisonous. I'll let you recover now."

"Thanks," she said with a soft smile. "I plan to go check on the lab this afternoon and see how it's been doing in my absence." It was a definite invite, to return to the routine they had established before the long sleep, and yet he didn't know what to think of it. Had she heard his conversation earlier? Even if she had, she was too shaken now to give any sign of it--and maybe she was too kind to reject him.

"Maybe I'll see you there," he said half-promising, then left her to her sleep. He shut the door gently and wondered if he would indeed see her there. It might be best not to go, to begin removing any trace of the rumours he was sure Miriam had spread or would be spreading. To not be seen with her. To not even look upon her or acknowledge her existence. But then his heart shriveled a little at the thought, and he ruled against the idea. "We have nothing to hide," he said grimly, half-hoping that someday the opposite would be true. "But even if it were, I wouldn't hide it." He would let the future write itself, and let Miriam think what she would.

The hope flowered in him, hope she had planted, that she wouldn't reject him.

* * *

Please review. I'd appreciate some feedback on editing the content of the story, since I have no idea what mental disorder my younger self had :D


	4. Disruption

This was already on my computer. I don't own SMAC, and I haven't played it in far too long.

This is more of a bridge chapter with a lot of politics. No clue where this is going, since chapter 5 doesn't exist! (Well, I still remember some of the details, but...yeah). Hopefully it'll be better from here on out, though it will still follow the original plot. Your continuing attention to this story helped bring this about, so, thanks! Please R&R.

* * *

_Ch. 4: Disruption_

Every single time Deirdre looked for Zakharov, he was elsewhere. She didn't blame him, however—it had been a week since his confrontation with Miriam, and he probably thought it was best if he stayed away. Besides, she had a lot to do in her lab, and she'd heard that he as well as everyone else who had been awakened in the early period was extremely busy.

All of that logic, however, didn't stop her from wanting to see him—she _needed _to see him and make sure that his feelings were true, so that she could figure out what her own feelings were. She felt as though her thoughts were blocked by a door that could only be opened with the sight of him filling her eyes, and scarcely knew what to think until that time.

…there was nothing she could do but wait.

* * *

Zakharov buried his face in his hands. Nothing at all was going right. Every single time he wanted to sneak off and see if Deirdre had recovered from both cryosleep and Miriam (and admittedly, from him), someone came to him with another emergency. Worse than that, none of the leaders agreed on anything anymore.

Executive Officer Yang was of the opinion that "we should found a base in an easily defensible spot." Santiago, the military adviser, agreed with him on that point—but not the precise location they had in mind. He himself had reminded them that an ecologically promising spot would be the best—after all, they would need to get food from somewhere when the Unity's stores ran out. Director Morgan had then added his input, saying it would be grand for them to land somewhere with no mineral resources.

Brother Lal had a pet project: reestablishing something along the orders of the UN—an overall agency that would govern all of the resultant cities on Chiron. However, as Colonel Santiago put it, "We need civilization before we can set up a secure governmental order."

Zakharov had a feeling that none of them would agree on the type of government, and the goals of that government, and consequently dreaded those discussions even more than the ones on where to land the ship. But between the arduous 'secret' meetings and his own laboratory work (and the work of his subordinates) he was exhausted.

There was at least one person more tired than he: John Garland. The captain always looked as though he had just run a race in a forest full of savage animals and quicksand. "Zakharov," said John after their latest council disaster, "I fear for all of us. If anything happens to me, well, you're the most like me. I'm sure you understand what I want. But—I have to pass my leadership to Pravin Lal. It's the only way—he's such a pacifist; if he can't get peace then no one will."

"If anything _happens _to you?" Zakharov was horrified that Garland was planning for this eventuality.

"You know," said John with a sad smile. "Prepare for all outcomes. You told me that, once, and you're right. But I have the oddest feeling that I'll never make it to Chiron. If that happens, please promise me that you at least will stand by what we both believe in."

"And what would that be?"

"Knowledge, my old friend. Relative worldwide peace. A beautiful, harmonious planet. The usual."

"Why me?"

"Because, out of all of them, you're my friend. They're all politicians. But you're something different." He smiled at Zakharov. "You understand."

"Thanks. And I will, you know that. But don't go around expecting this to happen, because it won't." Zakharov attempted to smile back. He was no politician, that much was true, but Garland was asking him to play that game.

"In any case, I fear the dissolution of the unity that brought us all this far. I fear that the fate we are heading towards is no better than that which we left. I left my wife on earth, my children, to lead this mission. You know that."

Indeed, Zakharov did. He laid a hand on Garland's shoulder for support. The UN had requested he lead, and his duty had taken him away from his loved ones. "Will my sacrifice be in vain?" continued Garland. "You see how they are now, when all we're discussing is aesthetics. Surface matters. When we start debating policy, I fear the worst." He spread his hands wide. "So now you know. I'm a fearful bastard."

Zakharov laughed at that. "But your fears are well-founded. I wish I could say they weren't, but I'm just as scared as you are. I think we all are. We all left our home planet to come here, and yet what is here? Why is it better than what we left? We are alive, still, which they are not on earth, but for what purpose? to what end? for what goal? No, my friend, uncertainty marks this time more than any other emotion. Uncertainty, and the feeling that we are waiting for a fuse to be lit."

The next day, policy debates began. They had finally transferred the matter of finding a landing site to Zakharov's scientists (which they should have done in the first place), with the understanding that they were looking for a defensible position and adequate resources.

Miriam stormed out after none of them wanted to listen to her plans for a fundamentalist government. "That's too extreme," Garland said gently to the woman.

"But in these darkest times, our faith can only sustain us! A government relying on the faith of the people would not be extreme, Captain, unless you think _faith itself_ is extreme."

"Faith is not extreme, Chaplain. But consider the governments that these people have left. Would they be ready for a faith-based government?"

"The righteous would," she scowled.

"And what of the others?"

"The others, as you so charmingly call them, would comprise most of the people on the Unity. We need a government stronger than mere faith to support us," said Executive Officer Yang.

Miriam abruptly stood. "I'm sorry that you feel that way, _gentlemen,_" she replied.

"I agree with Executive Officer Yang," said Colonel Santiago. "Proper military training and sufficient force are needed to control the masses."

"Hold on, these are people!" objected Pravin Lal. "They are our crewmates, our companions, not some nameless 'masses.' We need a strong government, it is true. But it should be based on democracy and free choice; otherwise, the people will rise up against us. A war is the last thing we need."

Garland gave Zakharov a look of, 'See what I mean?'

* * *

As their talks went on, the arguments became more and more extreme. It was clear that they were in a stalemate. It wasn't just that they couldn't obtain a majority; _everyone_ had different ideas on what to do, and their ideas were so disparate that it seemed as though they would never agree. Finally, after a heated discussion about a landing site (a discussion which they had foolishly thought was over after giving the job away to his scientists), Garland had stood. Despite the gray hairs and dark circles he had developed since the meetings had begun, he looked commanding, intimidating. Zakharov's heart pounded. They were so close to Chiron now—they were within its atmosphere. They would land, if only someone could make a decision. He hoped fervently that the Captain had that decision in his mouth.

"The command structure of the Unity…for the good of those aboard the Unity…will not change," Garland said softly. "When we land, we will preserve this structure. Everyone will maintain their designated role, until such time as they can, if desired, break off _with my permission_ to form their own colony. We must survive. I had hoped that we could be more democratic, but our continued survival is more important than our way of life—at least at first. This is my decision as commander of the Unity." His eyes, firm and decided, held all of theirs in turn. Zakharov let out a sign of relief. For the first time in weeks he slept unhindered by nightmares.

_The Unity was attacked that night from within. Captain Garland was assassinated. The ship's escape pods were fired, crashing down to the land. The survival of the other groups was uncertain, as were numbers and locations. Zakharov had found himself in charge of a colony, all because he was the chief science officer, and Garland's friend…_

* * *

Cue the beginning of Alpha Centauri! Yay!


	5. Revival

I think this chapter may help explain why certain people have seemed a bit out of character so far. This was always meant to happen. There will be more very soon.

_Convergence 5: Revival_

* * *

Deidre Skye sighed at the stack of reports on her desk. Not their size or the work they entailed—she had gotten used to such in the five years since Planetfall—but their content weighed heavily on her mind. She had read them already, but reading was a passive act compared to her task now. She had to make a decision; she had put it off too long as it was.

In an amazing advance pioneered by her controversial environmental policies and minority attitude towards the planet they had landed on, two years ago she had managed to capture some of the indigenous lifeforms and turn them to her will. Engaging with that alien collective consciousness was exhausting and unnerving, but she herself had communed with the mindworms. Grateful (she supposed) for their salvation from the brutal survivalist nature of the worms' life, they had flourished into a boil and begun to patrol the area around her capital city, Gaia's Landing. It was there five years ago that Deidre had planted the pine tree she had brought from earth. The city, thanks to her work with the land, was surrounded by rich farms and a perimeter of purposefully-cultivated fungus, through which the worms could move with ease. The only road leading in and out of the city was well-guarded, but the perimeter was meant to discourage native life more than human forces.

However, few regarded this planet with respect, instead choosing to eradicate the native life. The sad consequence of this was that Deidre was regarded by the Council (which consisted of Pravin Lal, its founder, Sister Miriam (who had her own following) and Chairman Yang) as somewhat batty, and Deidre's own people suffered for it. Their terraforming and ecological tech was in high demand, but no one was interested in working with the planet, meaning that only she could use their best tech. But it also damaged them politically. CEO Morgan, who had styled himself the head of a group, had been eliminated by his 'country's' neighbors for proposing too many dangerous business schemes.

Miriam had never forgotten her disrespect of Deidre from their former lives. Because the highest-ranking officers on each emergency ship had become de facto leaders, both had ended up with a faction. Although the worst dissenters of each faction had quietly slipped off into the night and joined another group, most people had stayed with her because she was fair and peaceful. Unconcerned with unjustly seizing what belonged to others, she had nevertheless carved out a decent existence for her people. Insulated from Yang and Miriam by Lal's territory, by Lal's peacemaking and his sense of justice, Deidre watched the two of them converge on Morgan's territory with a sense of fear, and cowardly relief. Their factions, strange as it seemed, got along well. She didn't like to think about what would happen if Lal wasn't there to act as a buffer and harmonizer.

But thoughts of global politics turned her mind back to the 'global' tag and the decision that the paperwork demanded. Evidence of another continent, separated from her region (the southwest part of the continent) by a mere strait. She knew that Miriam and Yang had taken to the sea already, exploring the idea of settling new lands, but hadn't found any yet. Although she had different notions than the others about how to _use_ the sea itself, the proximity of the land was exciting as well.

Most of the time during the last five years, Deidre had learned that leadership was a thing of very small increments. Capturing and communicating with the mindworms had been her only impactful direct action, as most of the politics was done in tiny steps and most of the faction policies were smoothed over by Lal's workmanship, even more careful than her own. But she had built fantastic civic institutions and even monuments in her cities—she saw no reason that living with nature prevented living in some manmade beauty—and today she would institute a policy that would alter the direction of her government forever. She breathed deeply, meditatitively, for several minutes before taking up her pen and writing:

_I brought a pine tree here from Earth to remind us of our loss, of our task to recapture what was on Earth and, in many cases, do better so that we could avoid the tragedy that forced us to relinquish our homeland. For five years it has been carefully cultivated in Gaia's Landing, where all may go to look upon it._

_But this planet, beautiful and precious in its Earthlike nature (for we are too fragile to survive on many worlds) is not Earth. We should explore its differences and celebrate them, while living differently than we did on Earth. All of you know of our success in dealing with the native life. Our colonies will all have protective barriers of worms to prevent hostile attacks by the end of the year. Expansion in our own territory is going nicely as well. But that is not all._

_Long before our ancestors had space, they had the sea. And we, too, have the sea, though it is largely unexplored. Thus I am pleased to announce our new initiative, for which we are accepting volunteers—within five years I intend to explore the sea near , to settle on the sea as we have on land, and to have explored and possibly settled the land on the other side of the sea, which scouts have confirmed exists. The possibilities can be actualized—but only with your help. We are accepting help from anyone who has oceanic expertise or good ideas and a strong work ethic. I'll announce more specifics about colonization and naval units once the technology is in place. I know that we can achieve whatever we set out to._

She curled her lip. It was always harder to end than begin such missives, but the announcements, which were posted in every city, helped people feel as though they knew her, even though in reality almost no one did. She debated revising it but decided that it would sound forced, artificial, if she did. She signed it, sealed it and proclaimed it ready.

Her desk was its own haven, a massive bulwark of wood. She could see the white pine she'd brought from earth from the window. The office wasn't any bigger or more lavish than the others, but it was more homey to her than her sleeping quarters. Her shoulders slumped. It was her thirtieth birthday.

Often she felt so removed from the Deirdre who had been a young girl on Earth and even the Deirdre who had been an ecologist on the Unity that those lifetimes were like movies she had seen. She truly missed John Garland's warm smile and easy leadership; she even missed Zakharov's friendliness and respectful regard. But she'd been a silly girl then, overawed by her position. She'd let people push her around, in ways much more subtle than Sister Miriam's. Naïvely thinking that she should agree because they had authority...

She wasn't a fool. Captain Garland had been the best leader she'd ever seen, and if he had survived the attack, she believed he could have kept humanity together. But she couldn't deal in counterfactuals. Garland was dead—honored each year in a special ceremony, yes, but dead—and she was in charge. So she did her best to emulate him. But that was why his eyes had always been so sad: everyone was friendly, but no one was a friend. At least within the Stepdaughters. Outside of them she had few acquaintances and few people she could trust. Being a leader truly was isolating.

But she could see into the future, at least when it came to her faction. Six months and she would be immersed in cultivating the Isles of the Deep, the nautical equivalent of mindworms, which would defend her first colony. In five years she would be exactly where she wanted to be—a naval power. That was the goal, although not something. she intended to advertise. Under the guise of colonization she would build a fleet that was capable of defending all her bases, even the landlocked ones (though there were only three of those). The problem with military force was that it was unjustified for her to develop a vast land army—in fact, because her psionic technology was so good, there was little threat from mindworms. But she could claim that sea colonization was fraught with the danger of attack, and by the time Miriam and Yang caught on and stared establishing naval colonies of their own, she would be the dominant power.

Unfortunately, the other leaders weren't fools; it was entirely possible that they would understood her attempts and move against her. But if she did not do this now, and decisively, they might devour her anyway at a later date, when they encroached on her territory through dominance of the sea. And if anything was to happen to Lal...

No, she shuddered, she did not want to think about that. There was enough land and enough resources for everyone, especially considering that there was unexplored land on the other side of the ocean. But still the worst of Hobbesian human nature seemed to overcome even the most moral of people. She still remembered the urgings of Yang over her commlink as he tried to convince her that Morgan was a threat to the rest of them. For all Nwabudike's faults, Deidre's heart seized in sympathy whenever she thought of his fate. It was true that Morgan had deceived them, lying about his assets and the prosperity of some of his bases. For that slight, even Lal had turned against him. But realistically Deidre knew, as a leader herself, how much information was valuable from safeguarded from the prying eyes of others' probe teams. The five of them had agreed when they had made contact—pretty much simultaneously thanks to the network of leaders knowing other leaders—to establish an informal U.N. with an overhead of a few commonsense policies; everything else was laissez-faire. Morgan had been opposed to further sharing of information, so when the edict of a planetary census had passed, he had circumvented it, thinking to hide the numbers of his people in the mines and the numbers in his account books in his personal coffers. And then a probe team, illegal in itself, had shattered his facade and his faction.

Deidre buried her head in her hands and breathed very slowly. The census results, if they were true, had also told her the stark truth: how small her faction really was. Even Lal's was bigger and more prosperous, given his many agreements with Miriam and Yang. Deidre trusted Lal's reconciliatory nature; she knew he aspired to one day be elected planetary governor and preside over the sessions with veto power. She would vote for him when that day came, but she had to develop some traction of her own, the way a plant dug deep roots in order to survive upheaval. As silly as that sounded, even in her head, she thought of her faction that way, as though it was the pine tree itself, fragile in a foreign land. She took her custodianship very seriously because she knew that any misstep would damage the very thing she tried to protect.

She raised her face from her hands. She wasn't in a laboratory anymore. She was the leader of an intelligent, charitable, and wise faction of amazing people. New immigrants from other factions joined all of the time—more than could possibly be spies. She owed her people the right to survive, won at any cost from the other factions. All she wanted was to be left in peace—but the continent had run out of frontiers and expansion could be expected after the land each of them owned (hers being the smallest) was consolidated.

The paperwork on her desk was sorted into two large piles. With her eyes holding fast on the correct pile, she designated the conciliatory papers, which would establish naval colonies protected only by defensively-minded troops and untested Isles of the Deep, for shredding and recycling. Let them do some use. Then she swiftly signed her way through the stack of documents authorizing a patrolling fleet of humans and worms with revolutionary combat tactics.

But maybe part of her was still a girl, she reflected wistfully, looking down at her sensible pumps and navy suit. She blew the ink dry on the last page, whispering, eyes locked on the pine tree outside her window, "Happy birthday to me."

* * *

Thanks for reading and especially to those who review! Your support kept this story going. :-)


End file.
